


In the Name of the Mother

by MissBrainProblems



Category: Cultist Simulator (Video Game), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Body Horror, Crossover, Gen, Horror, Lovecraftian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissBrainProblems/pseuds/MissBrainProblems
Summary: Worm X Cultist Simulator crossover. Currently a one-shot/prototype.When the Entities arrived from the deep, dark reaches of space, the denizens of the Mansus noticed. Not content with allowing ravenous aliens to devour their world, the Hours have set aside their differences and united in purpose. It has been over a quarter of a century since they began their preparations, but now - having gathered sufficient strength - the Gods from Stone, Light, Flesh, Blood and Nowhere all claim their champions.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	In the Name of the Mother

The Horned-Axe was the first to notice their coming, being the watcher of all thresholds: two creatures, unlike anything mortal or Mansusbound could have ever comprehended. One, fatally injured, slain by a mortal girl-child, the grotesque body harvested for its power; the other was alive, but lost, sans purpose without its partner to guide it. The Door-in-the-Eye told us the truth of their coming, that they intended to devour our world - _all_ of our worlds - for their own petty reasons; while the Golden One may have stagnated at the first, we knew that he would rise, at some point, and threaten us and all we held dominion over. Thus, our pact was born, that our vain and meaningless differences be set aside, that we resurrect those of our numbers that we have slain, and that we unite as one force to save our all and our entirety from he who would destroy it; we would require a quarter of a century - by the time-telling of the Second History - so that our servants might gather enough power for us to do so, but when the time came, we would declare chosen mortals as our champions, and set them upon the Golden One, for the sake of all of our salvations.

~~\----------~~

Who are you?

 _I have many names, child._ _I have been called priestess, the Daughter of Venoms,_ _oracle, Medusa, armored queen, the Key-Serpent, even murderess... But you, child, may call me the Mother of Ants._

Why are you here?

_There is work that must be done, child, that all of us might be saved. I need a champion, and you are her. As I was born, created, and awoken from blood, so were you; you bathed in blood, drowned in it, and arose from it, and for that, we are kindred spirits, after a fashion, and that will make what I must do far simpler._

What are you doing?

_A parasite resides within your brain, child, within your mind and your very soul. I will extricate it, first, keeping of its power what I can; then, I will take its place, merging with you as the alien monstrosity inside of you once did._

Wait. Please. I'm scared. I don't know what's going on.

_Do not fear, child. As with many things, what we do here is necessary. And do remember, child, that to open certain Ways, one must first open oneself._

Wait I-

~~\----------~~

Something in Taylor Hebert's body awoke in the hospital bed; it was not Taylor Hebert - not at that moment, and it would never quite be exactly her ever again afterward - but it wore her skin, in a manner that the Moth would have been proud of, and walked with her legs; devices began to sound off, informing the thing's keepers and caretakers that it had been roused. As the thing opened doors of containers and scavenged for what it sought, people rushed into the room; as the thing found what it was looking for and held it high above Taylor's body, the people screamed.

"Why the hell is that in here?! Who left that in her room?!" A healer shouted loudly as the thing clenched the key tightly, ready to insert it into the door that was Taylor Hebert's flesh.

"Taylor. Sweetie. Put the scissors down." The father was scared, terrified, frightened beyond belief, but approached the thing regardless, attempting to stop the opening.

It's voice was not of their world; it echoed in a way that went beyond sound, that bypassed the doors of their ears, and thrust into their essences. "Not all doors are wounds." The thing stabbed the key into the lock, and the door opened, pouring out red. "But all wounds are doors."

"Someone call security, now!" One of the other healers yelled, as blood gushed out of the opening in Taylor Hebert's body. "Grab her! Sedate her!" Nothing the keepers could do would be able to stop it, not then that the door had already been pried ajar; as the father grabbed onto the thing, more blood than could have been held in the bodies of ten Taylor Hebert's flooded out, pouring onto the floor of the sanatorium, staining into the garments of those who were trying to close passageway. "What the... Fuck...?"

The keepers and the father retreated away from the thing, red soaking them through to the skin as Taylor Hebert's opening shut itself. As they watched, the Mother's power began to work on the blood that had come through the door; the precious lifewater formed into myriad serpents, that coiled and spiraled onto Taylor Hebert's body, hissing and posturing at those who might harm their eldest sister, housed in the form of a young girl.

Taylor Hebert awoke, then, and the first thing that her eyes discerned were the bloodied form of her father and her keepers; panicked, frightened, horrified, Taylor looked at the blood-serpents that rested upon her, ready to ward against any danger that might approach. "Dad?" The girl's voice was normal, unlike the thing that had spoken, and was heavy in the fear that mortals always carried when confronted with the power of the Mansus. "What's going on?"

"I'm... I'm not sure, honey." Her father was strong of essence, in spite of his body; he was weak in other ways, but he would doubtlessly protect Taylor Hebert as much as the Mother's sisters would protect the Daughter of Venoms. "But we're... We're going to get this figured out, okay?"

Further away, a healer spoke, in distant communication with a keeper of a different type. "Hello? PRT emergency? I need to report something...

~~\----------~~

"I understand now." The Flint - who had been long dead, shattered by the Unburnt God, but resurrected in their time of need - had inhabited the mortal boy known to the world as Kid Win, and privately as Chris Michaels. "For so long, I couldn't understand. But now I understand." The Flint had inspired something in the child, something that had always been there, that had been partially unlocked by the alien parasite, but then became fully unlocked by the blessing of an albeit undead Hour.

"Christ's sake!" One of the boy's allies - Aegis, to the public, and Carlos Artigas, in private - attempted to restrain Chris Michaels as the boy salvaged his surroundings for the materials that he needed. "Stop it! I know you Tinkers have fugues, but you can't just tear everything apart like-" Not allowing any intercession, the boy threw Carlos Artigas away with the strength granted to him by the Flint.

"Did... Did Chris just..." Gallant, to the public, and Dean Stansfield, in private, looked on in terror at the force with which an Hour could act. "When did Kid Win get superstrength?!" Aegis watched the boy with fear as Chris Michaels continued gathering supplies, all in preparation for enacting the will of the Flint. "Someone get Dennis! Now!"

"There's, uhh, shit, fuck." Vista, to the public, and Missy Biron, in private - a peculiar child, though, as she despised her private name. "There's a problem with Dennis, too." She then pointed toward the room of that boy, motioning the others to see the glory that the Madrugad had bestowed upon him.

"Telling me I'm a substitute?" Clockblocker, to the public, and Dennis Archer, in private; light shone out through his eyes, through his mouth, and through his ears. "What kind of bullshit is that? You wanted Gray Boy, but you couldn't get him, so you settled for little old Clockblocker, instead? Fuck off." A chill like just before dawn flowed off of the boy's body, seeping into the rest of his room.

"Dennis." Carlos crossed the threshold, invoking Knock; quite a lucky boy, that the Mother was not there to receive that invocation. "Dennis. Can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine." His mouth did not move as Dennis spoke, the sound of his words leaving him as fast as light; at the very least, the other children did not have to suffer the oddity that came in the form of having their essences spoken to. "This is just such bullshit. Told me that I'm not a great fit, but that there's nobody else that's better. What a bitch." As the boy looked out through the passageway to where the Flint's champion stole tools and work items, he smiled as bright as a morning sun. "Need me to take care of Chris? Flint's got him in hard, looks like." Carlos - the poor, confused child - gave a simple, meager nod in response; one could not fault the mortals for failing to understand the machinations of the Mansus, even so. "Alright. Give me a moment."

Clockblocker touched Kid Win, and Kid Win froze, in both time, in essence, and in traditional, mortal temperature, chilly air draping off of him in mists like one would see at down.

~~\----------~~

The keeper known as Emily Piggot despised her duties on a frequent basis, and that day in particular roused her ire; being forced to interact with mortals who have been parasitized by alien creatures was troublesome enough for the woman, but being confronted with the forces and powers of the Mansus and its ruling Hours caused her no small amount of problems. Emily Piggot, however, was as strong in essence as she was weak in body, her soul and mind having been forged, melted down, and reforged enough times that the Unburnt God would have taken her as a champion if she had possessed the necessary physiology; it was with that strength of essence, then, that the keeper confronted three champions of three different hours with no fear in her heart.

The way that Dennis' orifices continued to glow with the light of the Glory did unsettle the woman, even so. "Is there absolutely no way for you to turn that off, Clockblocker?"

Dennis Archer shook his head, speaking in a voice that hit ear drums fast enough to make the Thunderskin blush. "Not that I've figured out yet. Sorry, Director."

Chris, the Flint-marked boy, was strapped into a special restraint that kept his Forge-imbued strength from breaking free; even as he was so imprisoned, though, his eyes roamed the keeper's demesne, looking for things to remake. As her gaze turned from the boy to the hard-looking man, she spoke in exhausted tones, Winter tinting her every word. "Armsmaster. The... Thing that's... Inhabiting you. What does it call itself?"

Armsmaster, to the public, and Colin Wallis, in private, though the man did not have many persons with whom he shared his privacy. "They're called Hours, ma'am. They claim to be from some... Alternate dream-world, that's existed since before the dawn of man." Ever reasonable, ever logic, never allowing his passions to get the better of him, always examining everything with a scrutinous eye; the Watcher and the Lionsmith had considered him, before settling on other champions. "The one that appeared in my dreams last night calls itself... Ah. He corrected me. My Hour calls _himself_ the Sun-in-Splendor." Emily Piggot watched her soldier with incredulous and yet patient eyes, ensuring that she achieved as much of an understanding of the Mansus as she could. "Much like Dennis', the Sun told me that he hadn't chosen me for who I am, exactly, but rather for my connections to the people that other Hours he's related to have chosen as champions."

That, at the very least, managed to drag the keeper-woman's strength down. "...other hours? Other people? Other champions?" Emily Piggot drowned out her world with her palms, expressing her emotions through noises of frustration and annoyance. "Alright. Did this... Sun-in-Splendor tell you who were the other people that he referred to?"

Colin Wallis stopped for a moment, trepidation pounding in his heart in a manner that did not befit his Heart. "The Hour known as the Forge of Days - the once 'lover' of my Sun, if these things can even have relationships like that - has chosen Dragon. I haven't been able to get into communication with her since I woke up this morning." Emily Piggot allowed her increasing despair be shown on her face. "And the Hour known as the Sun-in-Rags, some kind of 'child' or 'corpse' of the Sun-in-Splendor after the Forge of Days killed him..." The keeper stared at her soldier as if he was insane, in a way that many mortals have stared at Know in the past. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I know it sounds crazy. I know this all sounds crazy. But this is what happening. But the Sun-in-Rags, his champion is..." Colin Wallis clenched his jaw, sending his passion through his body that it might not overwhelm him. "Mannequin. The Sun-in-Rags chose Mannequin as his champion." Emily Piggot had already been driven to a state that would have left lesser mortals mad, but her soldier was not done. "And the Hours... Their goal, it's... Ma'am. The Hours want to kill Scion."

~~\----------~~

"I suppose, at the very least, that we should be grateful that these 'Hours' have goals that align with ours." The woman known as Doctor Mother and known as nothing else spoke to her arrayed servants and allies; as she had been chosen by the Mensicate, so too had all of her confidants been chosen by other Hours, their strength obvious to all who would look.

"I would be a lot more grateful if they hadn't ruined our shards in the process." Alexandria, to the public, and Rebecca Costa-Brown, in private, even though she allowed her public and private persons to blend more than her society considered ethical. "I don't _remotely_ have half the power I had before, for _any_ of my abilities." Even as the woman spake badly of her patron, the Elegiast's power manifested around her, the shadows of deceased Longs flitting in and out of the Second History.

"And I would say, in turn, that having a power similar to Glaistig Uaine's is nothing to scoff at." Eidolon, to the public, and David Hooper, in private. "Do you know what happened when I woke up this morning? After the Moth spoke to me in my dreams?" The changer's voice was usually calm, subdued, but his skin-switching did many things to him. "I molted. Several times. I _molted_ , Rebecca."

"Meanwhile." Legend, to the public, Harold Brown, in private. "The Wheel is constantly telling me to take David's skin and make it my own." All turned to look at Harold as he spoke; the danger posed by the close mingling of the Hours was not lost to those in the room. "Don't worry, people. I'm not going to. But apparently the Moth... Took the Wheel's skin? And... Killed it? Sent it to... Nowhere? It's... All of this is fairly confusing, to say the least."

The Number Man, who had once been known as Harbinger, who had once been known as Kurt Wynn, having shed his skin twice in his life, enough to have made the Moth consider him; he had sat there, in Wintery silence, as his compatriots spoke. "I hate to play some game of 'Who has it worse?'" Again, another mortal whose eyes shone with the brilliance of the Glory. "But do you know how much the Door-in-the-Eye is showing me? If the Watchman had chosen any other champion, they would have been driven mad by now. Honestly? I'm worried that I might be, at some point, if this keeps up." His confidants watched him cautiously; their eyes held fear, pity, and sorrow.

Contessa, who had once been Fortuna, and who had slain the Silver Devourer. "The Chandler tells me." The gazes of her companions turned to the woman chosen by the Pilgrim. "That all other planets have a 'Mansus'. I'm going to assume that this means that Scion has encountered things like the Hours before, and that he has experience fighting them." While Doctor Mother may have taken on the mask of a leader, all knew that Contessa was the one that held the Lantern, that guided them on their task. "At the very least, we've been freed from the possibility of being manipulated by the Thinker's shards." As her five followers watched her, the Chandler-chosen allowed the light inside of her to shine out, ever so slightly. "The only question is: Who else has been chosen by the Hours?"

~~\----------~~

Cherish, or Cherie Vasil, had ran off the moment she had woken up, screaming about how the Mare-in-the-Tree demanded her right to a forbidden liaison with the Ring-Yew, whose champion resided within the Birdcage; Jack Slash, or Jacob Knight, had much larger, more immediate things to worry about, such as Crawler, who had long forgotten aught of his original identity beyond a simple "Ned". Originally, the Moth and the Forge of Days had each demanded that Crawler be their champion, but the Colonel fought them for that right, and had emerged victorious, making the immortal-mortal his host; it was with no small amount of concern, then, that the Wolf Divided had chosen Jack Slash as his own champion, and had set the slayer of men upon the man who could not be slayed.

"Hurt me, Jack! Hurt me more!" Crawler, perhaps, had not necessarily been the most superb choice of champion for the Colonel, but the immortal-mortal's Edge aspect could not be denied; the Chiliarch was more than willing to spend as much time as he needed taming the beast for the sake of their mission, even so.

"Die already, you stupid fucking beast." The Wolf's chosen warrior had an essence that merged well with the Hour himself; a single form can only contain so much Edge, however, and Jack Slash found his natural proclivity for enacting the Watchman's mercy to have been multiplied countless times. The Siberian - a construct that the Colonel could admire, even if he knew that she was naught but a simulacrum - stood by the Wolf's champion, keeping Jack Slash immortal even as he attempted to slay all around him. It had been said that Cunning, Strength, and Agony were the three roots of victory, however, and the Wolf knew that his warrior possessed all three in abundance.

Nearby, Bonesaw, whose mortal form of Riley Davis had been flayed innumerous times, laughed with her childish, naive glee as she birthed a new creature; the frail mortals known as Shatterbird and Burnscar - unworthy of having private names, having lacked so in strength - had turned themselves in ingredients for the Red Grail's work, allowing her champion to enact a bloody will upon the world. "And then there... And then there... And then there...!" The infantuous girl squealed in pure, unadulterated bliss as red-stained hands spread their love onto her face; the child stole a delicious treat from the materials she was using, delighting in the taste as it slid down her throat. "Oh, Great Mother, thank you for blessing your servant with this bounty!"

The broken mortal known as Mannequin was, perhaps, the only real choice for the Sun-in-Rags; their essences were so similar, their histories - secret or otherwise - were so parallel that the God of Conclusions could have not neglected the man once known as Alan Gramme. Jack Slash had attempted to slay Mannequin - as the Wolf was wont to attempt to slay all things - but the Sun-in-Rags had already been slain, long ago, and could not be slain again, no matter how one attempted to do so, whether in body or in essence; even so, a pale, mournful light shone out from where Jack Slash had wounded Mannequin's broken body, and blood - something that Alan Gramme had not possessed for years - flowed out from his wounds, dripping onto the ground as he slouched toward Brockton Bay to be born again.

Nearby, a girl who had taken on the skin of the meager, determined rodent continued her wanderings as she had before, but with the Vagabond then as a companion.

~~\----------~~

"We have to do something about her, don't we?" Grue, in the darkness, and Brian Laborn, in the light who had once been considered by the Tide, but had been passed over for someone more suitable, someone whose essence fit more well with the Wave's. "If nothing else, they know she's part of our gang, and this can bring hell down upon our heads." In the distance, dogs howled, and hounds barked, and Edge and Forge swirled with one another as the Lionsmith channeled his power through his champion.

"There's nothing we can do. There's nothing we _should_ do, either." Tattletale; another Moth-favored, given that she had shed Sarah Livsey for Lisa Wilbourn. The Velvet had chosen her, though, their shared proclivity for secrets making them a match that the Ring-Yew and the Mare-in-the-Tree would have envied. "Scion. We need to kill Scion." Brian and the one known as either Regent or Alec Vasil looked at the Velvet's champion in confusion, mere mortals who had not been given knowledge from the Mansus. "He's going to destroy the world if we don't. The Lionsmith has to enact his powers. Make Rachel stronger. Make her dogs stronger. Make all of us stronger. It's the only way. It's the only way. It's the only way. It's the only..." Those whose parasites were still living when the Hours came to claim their champions underwent a greater confluence of the Principals than those who were host to dead aliens; not all survived with their minds intact, and Tattletale, or Lisa, or Sarah, was no exception. The girl-child retreated into herself, curling her body in a defensive, protective, secure posture, repeating her words to herself endlessly, as the Moldywarp's Heart aspect was wont to cause.

The mortal boys looked out onto the city that they inhabited, a city ripe with those of essence and of strength, a city that had been invaded once by creatures from the stars, and a city had been invaded yet again by Gods from their dreams. In the distance, a dragon roared, the Thunderskin not allowing him to stop, never allowing him to stop, must _not_ can _not_ shall _not_ will _not_ allow him to stop, do not stop, do not stop, do not stop. Elsewhere, a woman as bright as the Glory walked with the undead, unhatching Egg accompanying it, shining their merciful light on all who saw them. Somewhere other, the Flower-Maker took a smith who knew well the art of self-destruction, and drove him even higher in such matters. Finally, one could see walls and thresholds descend upon the city, the Horned-Axe having taken a girl who knew well the creation of those things, that they might work together to buffer their forces against the invasion of the Golden Destroyer.

"What the fuck is going on?" Brian, poor Brian; perhaps if he had been chosen as a champion, his confusion and dread would not have been so great. Perhaps...

~~\----------~~

A prison, they called it, for those possessed by alien parasites and whose proclivities tended toward Edge, toward Forge, toward Winter; no prison, however, can resist the power of Knock, and that the Beachcomber had chosen one of the jailed was, perhaps, a boon for all of those confined there - ironic, also, that the mortals had called it the Birdcage, and yet it could not contain the Beach-Crow. Glaistig Uaine was, perhaps, the closest thing that any of the alien-hosts had to a Long, possessed of timelessness and otherworldliness both; the fact that she so delighted in collecting parasites made her rather amenable to Cryppys, and the closeness of their natures made their binding go with ease and simplicity.

The mortal known as Marquis was similarly suited to become the Rising Spider's champion; so as the Spider desired dominion over-all, so had Marquis desired dominion over Brockton Bay, that city that all Hours had quickly learned to desire. With the strength of an Hour at his disposal, Marquis left his prison through the path that the Beachcomber had helped the Faerie Queen make; the Bone King was more than willing to assist the residents of the Mansus in their mission to slay the Devourer, but he was more than willing to make a secondary objective of reclaiming his domain.

The seductress and taker of hearts was, in a way, also an ideal host for the Malachite; Ingenue shared the Ring-Yew's tendencies desire, for restlessness, for whimsy, and overflowed with Grail, with Heart, and with Moth all, never ceasing her changes that she might always indulge in her pleasures. It was with the Malachite's beckoning, then, that she fled the so-called Birdcage, making her way to where the Mare-in-the-Tree's champion was, that they might unite in their taboo couplings.

Another prison, for mortals had so many of those. The Seven-Coils found a champion in a poor, miserable girl who had been irreparably transformed by her alien parasite into a monster that would have made some residents of the Mansus rear back in horror; just as wantonly destructive as the Father of the Mother was, though, so too was sad, so very sad Sveta. Her grief was so great that the girl possessed an overwhelming element of Winter, but that did not stop the Wound from binding to her; with the Seven-Coiled's Knock, the two of them escaped from Sveta's confines together, even as her keepers screamed much as the Wound's audience once did, albeit in terror rather than in delight.

So, so many prisons, but not all of them made from walls, not all of them in the name of the Horned-Axe, not all of them penetrable by Knock; some jails, for example, could be made from flesh, could be one own's body. So did the Tide find yet another pathetic young girl, trapped in her wretched, abominable form just as the residents of the Birdcage had been before the Beachcomber freed them; just as the Wave absorbs, polishes, and expels Names, so too could miserable Noelle do much the same to mortals, and even to their parasites, giving birth to something new each time, as Grail was wont to do. In spite of her companion's protests, the girl ran, ran, and ran, making her way to where the the Great Mother's champion was, seeking revenge for the Tide's draining.

Some prisons, however, were meant to keep people out, rather than in; a peculiar thing, that the Horned-Axe delighted in studying, finding mortal constructions so wonderful from time to time. That the Crowned Growth would find its champion within a walled-out city would be fitting, then, given its rivalry with the last God-from-Stone; Kings, after all, were always in need of a crown, and the Growth was more than happy to give his away to his chosen champion. Together, their lust, disease, and infection began to burgeon, began to grow, began to-

~~\----------~~

The city was in chaos; things that mortals perceived as those empowered by the parasites ran through the city, causing more chaos than they ever had before, spilling blood in the name of the Mother of Mountains, demolishing, recreating, changing in the name of the Moth, and not stopping, _never_ stopping, lest the Thunderskin cry out in offense. Even so, the keepers of the aliens had sent soldiers to retrieve Taylor Hebert, the Serpent-chosen girl ensuring that her younger sisters knew that the mortals around her were no threat to either her or to the Mother of Ants; in their carriage, she was accompanied by the child that had been claimed by the Witness, a girl with long, straight, and dark-brown hair, who saw countless upon countless possibilities and probabilities with every passing thought.

Avoiding the ceaseless dragon, the egg-sun, the lionhounds, and the suicidal craftsman, they made their way through a city wrought by Grail, by Edge, by Forge, and by Moth, the principal of Winter setting in as beautiful endings continued descending upon the denizens; even so, the mortals and the champions arrived safely at the castle of the keepers, the soldiers struggling to fight against the forces of the Mansus even as the carefully laid plans of the Hours began to unravel. Perhaps it should have been expected, given the nature of those who came from the House Without Walls; could anyone have truly expected the Gods from Light, from Stone, from Nowhere, from Flesh, and from Blood to be able to stay allied once the time came?

Inside the castle, the Mother of Ants and the Witness' champions found the chosen of the Witch-and-Sister and the Sister-and-Witch. Two of those who had sworn to defend their city, without concealing their true names; how much power they gave up, doing such a thing! Separate, yet united, the alien chirurgeon - who so desperately, madly desired her sibling - had become host to the Witch-and-Sister, prevailing in Grail over Heart; separate, yet united, the warrior girl - who could not be defeated, would not be defeated - had become host to the Sister-and-Witch, prevailing in Heart over Grail. It was odd, to see the champions of both of the Twins in proximity, enough that many of the mortals and the soldiers turned their heads, lest the sight unnerve them, fray their mind at its ends.

The leader of the keepers came to visit the champions, her Wintery legs barely carrying her Grail-like form; Emily Piggot was strong of essence, stronger than even some Longs and comparable to some Names, so she was not frightened by the sight of the chosen of the Hours, at least not to the point that she had to avert her eyes. What else could be said in that situation, though? What else could be said as the Mansus descended freely upon the Second History, as the Hours began to break the reality of mortals in ways even stranger than the alien parasites had done? What else could Emily Piggot say, except... "Come, you four. We have much to discuss."

_Follow her. She is one of the few that can reunite we Hours into our intended purpose, before Edge and Winter overtake us as it has done so many times before._

And what else could be done in that situation, though? What else could be done as the Mother of Ants whispered into her ear, as Serpents-from-Blood twisted and coiled around her in loving, crushing, soft, brutal embraces? What else could Taylor Hebert do, except follow Emily Piggot? And so, she did; Taylor Hebert followed the queen of the keepers further into her castle, dread and fascination filling her heart and weighing it down even as doors to the Mansus continued opening in her mind.

_What must be done, must be done. Remember, child, that to open certain Ways..._

"One must first open oneself." Taylor Hebert followed, as was needed of her.


End file.
